


in your face, picasso.

by athnvs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining?, Reader-Insert, Self-Portrait, So is reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi is Very Competitive, art class, artist!ushijima, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athnvs/pseuds/athnvs
Summary: “Just a simple game, whoever draws the best is the winner,” you contemplated at the rules of the made-up competition. “Whoever loses, will have to admit that the winner is the Best And Most Creative Artist That Has Ever Graced The Hallways of Shiratorizawa. And will have to treat a nice meal.”“You could just say the Best Artist.”You ignored him. “Are you in or not?”Ushijima never fails to surprise you as he slightly grins; the first emotion that you got from him. “Okay.”
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46
Collections: cry? or not ;)





	in your face, picasso.

**Author's Note:**

> was this just a 2k words-long excuse to study and stare at ushijima wakatoshi's face for a few hours? maybe, maybe not. also, tried making this as gender-neutral as possible! let me know what you think ☾*✲⋆.

You take pride in the fact that you are, somewhat, kinda _decent_ at drawing. Years of living with your older sibling (who was much more creative than you are) resulted in you mastering the basics of drawing more than a stick figure or a simple landscape. You weren’t anything great, you knew that, but you can’t help the smugness that takes over your face when your classmates look at your sketchpad with awe or when your enthusiastic teacher showers your work with compliments. You liked being great at it.

So when you were suddenly paired with Ushijima Wakatoshi for a class activity, you felt a surge of competitiveness. You weren’t friends with the guy, he was just another classmate; yet you knew of Ushijima’s left-handedness—everyone did—which you knew was an advantage in anything creative. Da Vinci was one, so was Michelangelo; who’s to say the legendary volleyball star Ushiwaka was any different?

You walk over to his desk, carrying your art supplies, and pull out the nearest empty chair. As always, his stoic face looked forward, not minding your presence and listening attentively to your teacher.

“For the next hour, you will now apply everything you have learned and draw a portrait of your partner. Nothing special, no need for colors, just a plain old sketch!” Your rather whimsical art teacher claps. “Now, now! Get your pencils at the ready, face your partners… and draw!”

This time, Ushijima stares at you. You stared back, trying to judge his blank face. _Was he sizing me up? Is he underestimating me?_

You squint your eyes at that thought. “I understand if you’ll be having trouble drawing me, everyone does have a hard time—”

“Is it because of your features?” His deep voice bluntly cuts you off.

“Wh— What?” If you were drinking water right now, you’d choke. “Features? You think I’m ugly?”

Ushijima opens his mouth to reply, yet you cut him back, frowning. “I meant everyone has a hard time drawing in _general_. I know I’m not as not pretty as you think but I certainly am not ugly.”

“I disagree. I think drawing is fairly easy.”

Does he have selective hearing or something? “So you _do_ think I’m ugly?”

You didn’t give him the chance to respond as you suddenly open your sketchpad and lean over your pencil case, mumbling incoherently, “Let’s just start. We’ll see who’s ugly at the end.”

Ushijima only blinks, looks down on his own sketchpad, and follows suit. You rolled your eyes. Was there any other emotion that you could get out of this guy other than that of a blank paper?

You watch as he takes a 2B pencil from his case and starts moving his wrist, each stroke starting lightly. You couldn’t make out what he was starting with but you were surprised with how gentle he holds the pencil against his big, calloused hands. In a sense, it looked as if he was testing out the waters, tentatively trying out which line to draw first like a toddler picking out a crayon for his artwork. But after a few moments, when he finally got the hang of it, his movements flicker robotically, like a practiced hand doing its umpteenth work. _Maybe he really was good at drawing_ , you thought.

Before you can stop yourself, you hear yourself suggesting, “Ushijima-san, let’s play a game.”

“What game?”

Your eyes widen at the reverb of his voice, shocked at how the stoic and serious Ushiwaka even considered your proposal. You rack your brain for ideas.

“Just a simple one, whoever draws the best is the winner,” you contemplated at the rules of the made-up competition. “Whoever loses, will have to admit that the winner is the Best And Most Creative Artist That Has Ever Graced The Hallways of Shiratorizawa. And will have to treat a nice meal.”

“You could just say the Best Artist.”

You ignored him. “Are you in or not?”

When he takes a second to reply, you quirk your eyebrow, “After all, drawing is _fairly easy_ , right?”

Ushijima never fails to surprise you as he slightly grins; the first emotion that you got from him. “Okay.”

Feeling another surge of competitiveness, you turn back to your sketchpad. Starting with a light circle, you continue to sketch the basic shapes of what makes up a face, something that your hand was already programmed in doing after tons of practice. You look up every now and then, carefully timing your gazes so as to not lock eyes with him accidentally, and you feel your hands mimic whatever features your eyes were seeing.

You start to sketch his features. _One steady stroke_. Your eyes slide over his strong jawline which was clenching every now and then in sheer concentration. Another stroke, a curved one this time. Your head tilts as you try to replicate how the edges of his face look so strong yet seemingly soft to touch at the same time; how each time the clouds part for the sun, its light bounces off his high cheekbones like glass. Nothing too straining to look at that you needed sunglasses, nor nothing too plain that you wouldn’t pass by it without doing a double-take. The glare of the sun made him immaculate to look at.

 _Two vertical lines, sharp and high._ You look at how angular his nose was, the summit of his whole face, slightly flaring as he takes deep, even breaths; something he must’ve mastered after years of being an athlete. You tried to translate each low sound of his breath, each sound of life, into your drawing, wondering how something could be so mesmerizing to hear. _Another curve, a balanced cupid’s bow._ Your gaze looks down to his pursed lips, noticing the rough, chapped patches from the harsh air, yet somehow—like the rest of his rather ironic features—also looked soft to touch, like how your mouth touches the warm marshmallows of a hot chocolate.

 _Light, feathery strokes_. As your wrist moves up on the sketchpad, your eyes look over his eyebrows, scrunched together in focus. You notice how it relaxes every now and then when he makes satisfying progress yet scrunches back again in its usual scowl when you hear the rubbing of his eraser against the paper, signifying a mistake. _More feathery strokes, clipped and short_. His hair was nothing like you’ve seen from the other boys at school. Other than his neat haircut, it was in an interesting shade of green and brown, in between forest leaves and bare soil; it looked so natural.

 _Two curves, two circles, one soft gaze._ Contrary to how you usually draw, you saved his eyes for the last, with reasons you were also unsure of. Your pencil trace over the pad, memorizing the way his eyes hover each inch of his sketchpad. If you weren’t intently looking—and thank heavens, Ushijima was not looking up for a few seconds to witness your weird staring—you’d miss how his pupils turn soft when he looks pleased with how an experimental stroke turned out okay. How his uniquely colored irises turn into a darker shade when confusion was written all over his face. How his eyelids were squinting in thought, as if questioning the shading of his drawing. How he looks up with curiosity evident in his olive gaze. How these same set of eyes were now staring into yours, slightly dilating with wonder and—

You immediately look down at your paper, flushing red with embarrassment. _Great, he thinks I’m a weirdo now_. If it wasn’t for him looking down once again to continue his work, you’re sure you’d have a hard time doing the same thing.

During the volleyball games that you were always dragged to, you always chose to sit at the top side of the bleachers, farther up and away from the court and its players. You were also seated at the front side of the class while he was positioned near the back doors. His figure was always looming and towering above you so you always moved away with the crowd while he was walking down the hallways. And so, you never had the chance to look at Ushijima’s eyes like that: as if you were the only ones in the room, no soft scratching of granite against paper, no shrill voices of your art teacher. So up close that you could be easily sucked into his viridescent eyes if your gazes locked for more than a few seconds. You scoffed, _not that I wanted to_.

_Do I?_

Turning away from your almost finished sketch, your eyes flutter up once again to see him, now staring gently into your face, 2B pencil discarded on the side as he holds his sketchpad on both sides, as if ready to present it his whole heart to the world.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You smile. “Are my _features_ so hard to draw, Ushijima-san?”

“No,” Ushijima replies. “Your face is perfect.”

This time, no water was needed. You choke on your own breath as you cough out, “What are you talking about?”

“Alright! Pencils up, everyone!”

Your conversation with Ushijima is interrupted as you jump at the booming voice of your teacher, not missing the groans of your classmates who were, as usual, having a hard time with the subject.

“Now, I would like you guys to exchange your sketchpads with your partner!” You inwardly cringe at the way your teacher claps his hand in excitement. “Look and compare at your progress!”

You don’t miss the way his breath hitches when you hand him your drawing. When he doesn’t reply for a few seconds, you find yourself defending your drawing. “It’s not yet finished! We only had an _hour_ to do it, I haven’t even finished shading the—”

“Thank you, [L/N]. This is beautiful.”

You blink at the sudden compliment. “What? I’m sure yours is better—” You snatch his sketchpad and hastily look over.

And you wish you took a moment before you did. You gasp as you try to recognize the person in the portrait. Your eyes flicker over each small curve and jagged lines. Each stroke was definite and sure, all forming into intricate details. Your eyes gaze into that of the portrait’s, so animated and full of life as if they were speaking their soul into you. You wonder at their sly lips, how it mimics that of the Mona Lisa’s, slightly grinning and teasing. Each patch of shading highlighted the summer sun, glistening over the high peaks of their face, turning the simple, static sketch into a live portrait. It was vivid. Alive. _You_ were alive.

You force your eyes away from the sketchpad and glance over Ushijima. He was watching every emotion that flickered over your face as you studied his work.

Before you could say anything, you hear your teacher’s voice behind you. “Oh, how wonderful sketches! Absolutely beautiful!”

Your hand is still over your mouth in astonishment, unable to form words, so Ushijima asks, “Takahashi-sensei, if you were to choose, which one is the best portrait?”

The art teacher simply laughs—rather, guffawed if you were being honest—his chuckles echoing around the room. “Ushijima-san, [L/N], all art is beautiful. You cannot compare one to another, like how you can’t compare the beauty of fireworks to the beauty of roses. Both are uniquely beautiful in their own way.”

With that, your art teacher saunters away, hollering and being a tad too excited with the poor attempts of your other classmates at art.

You frown and look at Ushijima, back to your teacher, and back at him again. “Wow, _that_ really helped.”

“I do not think you are ugly.”

You smile in amusement. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“You are not ugly,” he repeats. “I also take back my statement. Drawing is fairly easy, yet your features are very intricate and mesmerizing that I bet even Picasso would have a hard time replicating such a beautiful face. I hope I did you justice just as you did mine.”

Ushijima slightly bows and you laugh in reply, eerily the same with how your teacher does. If you weren’t already used to his blunt words then you would have blushed furiously, so instead, you tease him. “I think you’re better than Picasso.”

“How so?”

“You’re left-handed.”

Ushijima only chuckles. “Then I think you’re even better than Rembrandt, Da Vinci, and Van Gogh.”

“Oh? Is the great and competitive Ushiwaka admitting defeat? Am I the Best And Most Creative Artist That Has Ever Graced The Hallways of Shiratorizawa?”

He nods, “You are the Best Artist.”

“Complete the title.”

Ushijima sighs. “[L/N] [F/N] is the Best And Most Creative Artist That Has Ever Graced The Hallways of Shiratorizawa.”

You ignore the butterflies that form at the pit of your stomach when you hear your name roll off his tongue. You smiled triumphantly. “And don’t forget the nice hot treat! I would like some steamed red bean buns, please.”

Ushijima raises a brow. “Would you like to have dinner instead?”

“Is Ushijima-san asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> ☾*✲⋆. i'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AYANAM1S)!


End file.
